Tsin does her best to block out the thrush's chirps, paying attention to the inevitable sound of cracking ice. She takes a full breath only when she's reached the other side.
If there is something at the ready for Tsin to tie off the rope, she'll try to do so. If not, she'll draw her weapon, dig in her heels, and act as anchor as the boys cross over.
"Slow as it goes. I heard very little ice cracking while crossing. There is an unfortunate over here that is not me. Buried in the snow, likely a victim of our welcoming waters."
Tsin keeps her eyes on this side of the river, scanning for opportunists.
"Zeno, would you be so kind as to have a look around? My eyes are watering a little too much."
Zeno settles comfortably upon Tsin's shoulder.
The little thrush then hops back and forth from one of Tsin's shoulders to the other, peering intently out into the falling snow.
Neither Tsin nor Zeno see anything else in the snow.
There are plenty of trees Tsin can tie the rope to.
Quinn will tie the rope to himself after Tsin has tied it to a tree on the other bank, then he'll provide the anchor for Hektir, Pem, and Mal to cross, before crossing himself following the exact same path that Tsin took, if it's still intact...
Tsin will hover on the opposite bank, ready to slide along the rope should someone require assistance further out. "One at a time, don't you think? Or perhaps Pemsworth can assist Malavarius? Don't bunch up. Too much pressure in one point won't do at all."
For the first time in a while, Tsin feels genuine concern, rather than frustrating imposition.
After Mal and Pems (via DMPC?) cross and are safely on the other side, Hektir will nod to Quinn and make his own crossing.
If he makes it safely over, he will ready and steady the rope for Quinn's crossing.
Following Tsin's footsteps get you all across safely, leaving you with the trail in the snow and a body in a drift.
Once on the far side of the river, Quinn takes a fresh look at his surroundings.
You still see only the body -- and of course the seemingly everpresent falling snow -- out of the norm.
Hektir will head over to the body, drawing his scimitar as he goes.
Perception
If clear, Hektir will pull the body out of the snow.
"What we got here?"
Quinn gathers the party close and expels a pulse of healing energy, just in case the body is more than just a body.
...and then Quinn stands close by, weapon in hand, while Hektir pulls the corpse from the snow bank.
Tsin renews her appreciation of Quinn's god power. "I hope I don't bore you with my thanks, Quinn. Please don't ever feel I take that for granted. You are a most welcome companion."
She unties the rope from the tree, tucks it away, and brings her crossbow out to stand guard as Hektir and Quinn pull the body from the snowbank.
Tsin looks down on Pemsworth, and takes in the scenario. "So, master locksmith. Are you wishing you had stayed back in Heldren, warm and sated on Stoat ale?" She moves the crossbow in a slow semi-circle, aimed down the path. "I must admit, this is draining my will to push on." She readjusts the captain's shield across her back, and quiets down.
Hektir begins to mutter to himself, quietly, in a squeaky high voice as he listens to Tsin talk to Quinn.
Quiet muttering mocking Tsin's love of Quinn.
"Oh Quinn! You're the best. Your god is so godly! You're not a joke at all! You're wonderful!"
It appears to be Old Man Dansby, a farmer from Heldren, who is indeed quite dead.
Some of you remember his claims that someone was stealing from his fields. His farm lied closest to the Border Wood, where half his crops had died from an icy frost and the rest were carried off.
On him is a composite longbow (+1 Str) with 12 arrows; a dagger; a nice handaxe; and a pouch.
"Old Man Dansby! Holy piddlespot! Hey Quinn! It's Old Man Dansby! Didn't you hate him and he hate you? Why was that again? Something about a chicken?"
Hektir tries to remember what Quinn's issue was with Old Man Dansby.
Hektir grabs the handaxe.
"You guys mind if I take this? I can't use it so good, but can chop wood with it."
"As long as you don't mind if I take up this longbow. It has a nice feel to it." Tsin unequips the quiver of crossbow bolts, and offers it to Quinn.
Orwyne would have a hard time drawing this back. Good.
Tsin reaches down to pick up the pouch, and tosses it to Pemsworth.
"Shall we continue, then? While there's still sun?"
Another couple hours pass without incident as the snow continues to fall.
Eventually, the trail begins to climb a ridgeline to the south beneath snow-laden trees. The prints of boots and horses mar the freshly fallen snow on the trail.
Quinn scowls at Hektir's words, but says nothing as he prepares to bury farmer Dansby in the snow, saying a prayer over him.
Please Cayden, see this man's soul safely to where it travels. And slap jerky Hektir, he knows I feel bad about that chicken incident
Prayers finished, Quinn takes a moment to determine the cause of death of the farmer.
Then he buries the man in a sad tomb of snow, knowing it to be impermanent.
After hours of tramping through the snow, the fresh tracks appear. "Look, Hektir, what do make of those?"
Hektir breaks out his shovel and helps bury Dansby.
He didn't deserve this fate. He had some good qualities...like how he felt about Quinn.
* * *
Hektir takes a look at the new tracks.
Survival
Quinn, you're not sure exactly what killed the farmer, but based on the lack of bleeding wounds and the severe frostbite, you would guess it was probably the ice elementals you just defeated.
Pemsworth looks in the purse, where he finds 14 gp, 25 sp, and 18 cp. "Thanks," he says. "I'll just hold on to this for a bit."
While the horse tracks seem a bit older, three sets of the human tracks appear relatively fresh.
"I say, that's a great deal better! Thank you, Quinn. Most kind of you."
"Hmmm? Why're we stopping? Did someone find something? It's not my favorite hat is it? You know, I've not the foggiest idea where it could have gotten to. It was on my head one moment, and I haven't seen it since. That was months ago! Been stuck with this lumpy, shapeless thing ever since." He jabs the head of his staff into the brim of the hat grumpily. "Do you know how hard it is to come by a truly well made hat in these parts? It's tragic, really. Truly tragic. But I say, why are we stopping? Did someone find something?"
"Stay sharp. We may not be alone." Tsin scans the sides of the path, as well as the path itself, hoping to avoid another log slam.
Should the path prove well-forested, she keeps her falchion out, and at the ready. If the path is providing ample exposure for distance attacks, she trades her falchion for the composite longbow.
Hektir smirks at the old man.
He's going to end up like Old Man Dansby. We're going to miss his fire.
"Come along now, we should keep moving. Ain't no snow balls going to stop us."
Survival on human tracks
If Tsin has her sword out, Hektir will have his sling. If she has bow, Hektir will have his sword.
Pem draws and loads his sling, watching the others closely.
Quinn eyeballs the tracks ahead, looking for any sign of deviation from their course of travel.
The tracks seem to meander around the area, and as you progress, you can hear what sounds like human voices quarreling.
"Sshhh, voices ahead." Quinn leans forward and cups a hand to his ear, looking more like a poor thespian than an actual adventurer, as he attempts to eavesdrop on the quarrel.
"Are you telling *me* how to keep quiet?!" Hektir asks Quinn as he rubs his goblin ass-arrow wound, as if the memory made it hurt again.
Perception
Hektir listens, wondering what others are doing in his woods.
Tsin lets the others take in the scenario. Let's hope their senses are sharper than mine. My ears ache from the cold, the pulse of my blood the obvious sounding.
She keeps the bow at the ready, should the hounds pick up a scent.
Pem concentrates and adds his senses to the others'.
"All I'm saying *muffle muffle* she wouldn't mind," a nasally voice says.
"Who *mutter mutter*," a female's voice replies, oddly squeaky in the white forest. "*mrph* sweet chain shirt. Shouldn't have left..."
"I call dibs on that dagger. Did you *mutter muffle mrph* edge on it"? a second man answers.
It sounds as though there are three of them and that they're unaware of you.
Hektir turns to look at Pems...and gives Pems the talky-talky gesture with his hand.
He then invites Pems to go talk.
Tsin looks back and forth with the hand gestures. She tries to convey her best shadow hand for sneaking to Pems. For a second, Tsin appears to be a rather large bunny.
Be careful, little one. We need your skills.
Pemsworth shakes his head sadly at Hektir's attempts to use sign language. He stands up from his crouch, brushes himself off, loosens his sword in its scabbard and steps out into the clearing.
"Ahem? I am but a lowly traveller, heading from here to there, but I could not help but overhear your conversation and thought we could share a brief conversation. Hello! My name is Hektir, and I am a tracker in these here parts."
Malavarius' gaze, aimlessly meandering through the falling snowflakes, snaps back to the group when he realizes they've both stopped and gone quiet. He just finishes whispering to Zeno to go check things out when Pemsworth boldly steps forward and addresses persons or things that he can't see. "Hmmmm... what's that? He's Hektir? I thought the taller, gruff one was Hektir. Oh my, now this is a quandary, wouldn't you agree, Zeno?"
Quinn considers correcting the old wizard, but decides it would just cause more confusion and earn him another thump on the head.
"Eh? Who's that?" the woman calls out, as the trio -- dressed in padded armor and with well armed -- suddenly becomes aware of Pems. "Suggest you turn around, laddie. There's nothing for you this way."
All three grab their bows and nock an arrow.
Pem smiles broadly and raises his hands to indicate he has nothing concealed. "Peace, neighbors! I have no ill intent, just a weary tracker seeking the source of the snow. Do you know what has caused winter in midsummer?"
Tsin moves to a tree, for cover, and for better vantage on Pems as he steps close enough to engage the three in conversation. She keeps her own arrow nocked. She observes for rabbit runs, and the course Pemsworth is likely to take should he beat retreat.
She studies Pemsworth with new eyes, eyes of a thief that would look upon the halfling with measuring gaze, what to gain, what to take should they feel comfortable with their three arrow advantage.
"Not a clue, stranger, but you'd best be turning around. These woods are dangerous in the best of times and these are hardly the best of times," she replies, as the two men edge slightly away from her.
"You don't say? Why I'm new to these parts and being Hektir, not very bright at the listening parts of common courtesy, so why are these woods so dangerous? And have you seen some fey dragging a captured woman? Noble? Yea high?"
The real Hektir will grip is scimitar tightly, ready to act if needed.
Bolt loaded in his crossbow, Quinn stands just behind the real Hektir, waiting for the likely battle to begin.
"I think we've heard enough out of you, Hektir. Tell Pharasma we gave you a chance!"
In a sudden motion, she pulls her bow up, pulling back and firing an arrow toward Pems. The blow hits the halfling in the chest, rocking him back as pain spreads through his small form.
Hektir:
Malavarius:
Pemsworth:
Quinn:
Tsin:
Antagonist:
Round .5, Init 24
Offended that he'd been shot-via-proxy, the real Hektir advances with malice in his heart...and also in his sword arm.
Hektir will swing at the shooter.
to hit;
damage.
HP: 14/14
AC: 17
Hektir charges up the hill, despite the snow's difficulty, just reaching the woman, his sword spraying crimson blood across the white snow.
She backs away from the tracker as far as she can considering the snow , her two allies both shooting at the attacker as they back away. One arrow hits, a glancing blow that draws its own trail of blood from Hektir.
Pemsworth snarls in pain, then draws and loads his sling. "Being Hektir is not a good idea. Let's try being an angry halfling for a bit!"
Rushing through the snow, Quinn joins the Hektirs and unleashes a bolt at the lady archer.